Chapter 1

Parents will not give bad advice. Mom and Dad have already made a bunch of mistakes and are now trying to warn the children. But, alas, everything is in vain: people, as you know, prefer to learn from personal bitter experience.

All mothers unanimously say to their growing daughters: cast your fate only with a positive man, you don’t need a liar, a drunkard and a post-ass. But for some reason, most girls do not listen to their mothers and prefer the spoiled version. Moreover, the more wormholes the groom has, the more he is loved. I don’t know what thoughts guide the beauties when they turn their gaze towards uncontrollable drunkards and selfless womanizers, maybe a teacher lies dormant in every representative of the fairer sex and women simply feel a physiological need to re-educate someone? Or some kind of hunting excitement kicks in: yeah, there’s the seductive Casanova smiling, putting everything that moves into bed. I’ll try to tame him, fasten him to my skirt, by God, it’s not an easy task: ringing Don Juan. Alas, for those who cherish such ideas, a simple thought does not creep into their pretty heads: what is born is what grows, a bottle lover and a skirt aficionado cannot be changed, he is only able to concentrate on you personally for a while, then he will again be drawn to exploits. Well, why not glance at a normal person, for example, like my friend Slava Minaev? He is a Doctor of Science, professor, works at Moscow University, teaches mathematics. His salary, of course, is not particularly high, but it is stable, and the rector often gives his employees some bonuses, a trifle, but nice. Minaev lives alone, he has no relatives like his always grumpy mother, arrogant younger sister or corrosive father. Slava’s apartment is very good, normal, standard Moscow three-ruble rent, two adjacent rooms, one isolated. Slavka doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t show hair, and after work he goes home, where he cooks dinner for himself. Minaev is a passionate cook, owner of a huge collection of books about tasty and healthy food. He, having already begun to turn gray, has never been married, so he is not burdened with alimony, raising his offspring and permanently sorting out his relationship with his ex-wife. Slava wants to create a good, strong family, have two children, in general, she is a real diamond, an ideal option for a brides fair.

Minaev, by and large, does not care about the appearance and financial situation of his chosen one; he is a romantic who falls in love with the soul, and not a hardened type who prefers to deal only with busty and long-legged blondes. It seems that women are tearing such a man to pieces, trying to take him to the registry office. Near Minaev’s apartment, in my opinion, there should be a line of girls milling around who understand well: Slavka is their dream come true. But no, in reality the situation is different. All those who “adore” Minaev, after talking with him for a couple of months, leave the professor. The friend is suffering, he sincerely does not understand why his beloved did not want to live with him.

About two months ago, Slava and I were sitting in the same tavern, at the same table, I remember, a friend then asked with a sigh:

- Vanya, why aren’t you married?

Usually, when I hear such a question, I laugh it off and say something like: “I’m not old enough yet,” but that time I was in a disgusting mood, I had broken up with my mistress Lisa, so I suddenly said:

“You can’t imagine how tired I am of the ladies who read Marquez and regularly attend symphony concerts.” It just jars with polite hypocrisy; it’s better to find an ordinary girl, with a face not disfigured by intelligence, a good housewife, have offspring and live happily. Cottage, homemade canned food, children, grandchildren...

By the way, I am not at all child-loving, family delights do not please me, it’s just that at that moment Slava hit his finger in the wound. Having just experienced a break with Elizabeth, I did not react very adequately to stimuli.

“So I found myself one,” Slava exclaimed joyfully, “Verochka!” How do you like her, by the way? Loves me very much.

I sighed: oh, how long will love last?

And now the friend exclaims again and again in bewilderment:

- Well, tell me, what bad did I do to Vera?

I silently stared into the cup with the disgustingly prepared drink. Alas, even in elite catering establishments, of which there are now countless in Moscow, they do not know how to brew green leaf correctly. It’s just surprising, but the kitchen workers don’t know the most basic things: water for green tea is not taken from the tap, it…

“Vanya,” Slava exclaimed in despair, “so how?” What do you think I'm guilty of?

Alas, nothing can be explained to poor Slavka, however, just like the local “tea expert”, who now, without any hesitation, filled the cups with boiling water, using ordinary unfiltered water from the kitchen tap. Slava lived with Vera for six months. Minaev met her in a store where he came to buy shoes. Vera began to serve the client, by the way, she is quite cute, a sort of simpleton with wide blue eyes, and Slava invited her to spend the evening together.

Watching their relationship unfold, I naively believed that my friend had finally found his wife. Vera arrived in Moscow from a provincial, provincial town, ran away from her alcoholic parents to her aunt. The girl doesn’t have much education; in her pocket was a diploma from a certain organization that trains salespeople in record time. The beauty lived in cramped quarters, counted pennies and dreamed of meeting a prince. And then bam - Slavka, maybe not of royal blood, but quite okay, with an apartment, a car, a dacha and a salary. Vera moved to Minaev, and Slavka, choking, told me how wonderful she was.

“I’m so lucky,” he repeated.

But I understood that the girl pulled out the winning ticket.

She did not burden herself with housekeeping. As I already mentioned, Minaev cooks himself and likes to choose the products personally. It is important for Slava that the rice for risotto be of the required length and color, so Minaev independently walks around the shops and markets. The tedious work: cleaning, washing, ironing at Slava’s is done by the gloomy Galya. She comes twice a week and puts everything in order, so, in my opinion, Vera’s life resembled a holiday. Minaev instantly took her from the shoe store and sent her to study as a designer. In the morning, Slavka took the lady to class, then he picked her up, and they went home to a clean nest, where he stood at the stove, and the lady lay down on the sofa and watched TV. Which of you, dear ladies, would refuse such happiness? Yes, one hundred women out of a hundred now feel jealous of a girl. But Vera turned out to be one hundred and first. Yesterday, while Slavka was going to the grocery store, she packed her things and left, leaving a note on the table: “Goodbye, I can’t live with you anymore!”

And now Minaev exclaims:

- Why did she do this? I didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t offend Vera, didn’t lay a hand on her.

“Maybe I should have given her a slap sometimes,” I sighed, “once a week, on Fridays.”

“Vanya,” Slava exclaimed indignantly, “I’m asking for advice, my situation is nervous, stressful, and you’re laughing!” Really inappropriate.

I buried my face in my cup again. I didn't mean to joke at all. Alas, the breed of people who are not able to appreciate good treatment towards themselves is too numerous. Girls like Vera consider intelligence to be stupid, and then, they grew up in an environment where beaters are a sign of masculinity. Slava needs to either radically change his behavior or look for a new mistress in a different social stratum. I am alien to snobbery, but you should start a family only with someone who read the same books as you in childhood and youth.

“Help me, Vanyasha,” Minaev continued meanwhile.

- How? – I asked carefully.

- Go to Vera, ask what happened? Maybe I offended her inadvertently and didn’t notice?

- Call her.

– She turned off her mobile phone.

– Do you know where Vera went?

- I think to my aunt.

- Go there.

- Nobody picks up the phone there.

- Go to the apartment.

- Already been there.

Slavka began to twirl the knife lying on the table.

- Nothing, the door was not opened, although someone was at home, you know, when you look through the peephole from the inside, a shadow flickers through it.

I nodded:

- Right. This is me in relation to the “peephole”. Since they don’t want to communicate with you, then cross out the girl from your biography, forget Vera, there will be another.

“Please go to her,” Slava begged.

“Okay,” I gave in, “although, to be honest, I don’t see any point in talking with Vera.”

“I beg you,” Minaev almost began to cry.

- Okay, give me the address.

Slavka quickly dictated the name of the street, I began to write down the coordinates in a notepad, and then my mobile phone screamed. Nora was on the other end of the line.

“Vanya,” she exclaimed angrily, “where are you?”

Chapter 1

Parents will not give bad advice. Mom and Dad have already made a bunch of mistakes and are now trying to warn the children. But, alas, everything is in vain: people, as you know, prefer to learn from personal bitter experience.

All mothers unanimously say to their growing daughters: cast your fate only with a positive man, you don’t need a liar, a drunkard and a post-ass. But for some reason, most girls do not listen to their mothers and prefer the spoiled version. Moreover, the more wormholes the groom has, the more he is loved. I don’t know what thoughts guide the beauties when they turn their gaze towards uncontrollable drunkards and selfless womanizers, maybe a teacher lies dormant in every representative of the fairer sex and women simply feel a physiological need to re-educate someone? Or some kind of hunting excitement kicks in: yeah, there’s the seductive Casanova smiling, putting everything that moves into bed. I’ll try to tame him, fasten him to my skirt, by God, it’s not an easy task: ringing Don Juan. Alas, for those who cherish such ideas, a simple thought does not creep into their pretty heads: what is born is what grows, a bottle lover and a skirt aficionado cannot be changed, he is only able to concentrate on you personally for a while, then he will again be drawn to exploits. Well, why not glance at a normal person, for example, like my friend Slava Minaev? He is a Doctor of Science, professor, works at Moscow University, teaches mathematics. His salary, of course, is not particularly high, but it is stable, and the rector often gives his employees some bonuses, a trifle, but nice. Minaev lives alone, he has no relatives like his always grumpy mother, arrogant younger sister or corrosive father. Slava’s apartment is very good, normal, standard Moscow three-ruble rent, two adjacent rooms, one isolated. Slavka doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t show hair, and after work he goes home, where he cooks dinner for himself. Minaev is a passionate cook, owner of a huge collection of books about tasty and healthy food. He, having already begun to turn gray, has never been married, so he is not burdened with alimony, raising his offspring and permanently sorting out his relationship with his ex-wife. Slava wants to create a good, strong family, have two children, in general, she is a real diamond, an ideal option for a brides fair.

Minaev, by and large, does not care about the appearance and financial situation of his chosen one; he is a romantic who falls in love with the soul, and not a hardened type who prefers to deal only with busty and long-legged blondes. It seems that women are tearing such a man to pieces, trying to take him to the registry office. Near Minaev’s apartment, in my opinion, there should be a line of girls milling around who understand well: Slavka is their dream come true. But no, in reality the situation is different. All those who “adore” Minaev, after talking with him for a couple of months, leave the professor. The friend is suffering, he sincerely does not understand why his beloved did not want to live with him.

About two months ago, Slava and I were sitting in the same tavern, at the same table, I remember, a friend then asked with a sigh:

Vanya, why aren’t you married?

Usually, when I hear such a question, I laugh it off and say something like: “I’m not old enough yet,” but that time I was in a disgusting mood, I had broken up with my mistress Lisa, so I suddenly said:

You can’t imagine how tired I am of the ladies who read Marquez and regularly attend symphony concerts. It just jars with polite hypocrisy; it’s better to find an ordinary girl, with a face not disfigured by intelligence, a good housewife, have offspring and live happily. Cottage, homemade canned food, children, grandchildren...

By the way, I am not at all child-loving, family delights do not please me, it’s just that at that moment Slava hit his finger in the wound.

Two brides for one place... Yes, Ivan Pavlovich Podushkin found himself between a rock and a hard place. Two ladies at once claim that Vanya is the father of their future babies and, as an honest man, is obliged to marry. Of course, at worst, you can marry, but which of the two? And what to do with the second contender for Vanya’s hand and heart? In short, while Podushkin is trying to somehow solve his personal problems, his owner Eleanor is also not letting Vanya breathe. He rushes around the city, investigating another case. Their client Igor Samoilov met the embodiment of his childhood dream at one of the parties. She looked exactly like the girl from the calendar. Once in his youth, Igor even came up with a name for her - Francoise. And what a coincidence - the beautiful vision was also called Françoise. And after some time, the girl disappeared from Samoilov’s life as suddenly as she had appeared. Nothing was missing from Igor's apartment. And he didn’t have any special valuables, except perhaps a collection of old maps that his father collected. The old professor spent his whole life searching for pirate treasures and even claimed to have found the place where they were hidden...

Darya Dontsova

Two brides for one place

Chapter 1

Parents will not give bad advice. Mom and Dad have already made a bunch of mistakes and are now trying to warn the children. But, alas, everything is in vain: people, as you know, prefer to learn from personal bitter experience.

All mothers unanimously say to their growing daughters: cast your fate only with a positive man, you don’t need a liar, a drunkard and a post-ass. But for some reason, most girls do not listen to their mothers and prefer the spoiled version. Moreover, the more wormholes the groom has, the more he is loved. I don’t know what thoughts guide the beauties when they turn their gaze towards uncontrollable drunkards and selfless womanizers, maybe a teacher lies dormant in every representative of the fairer sex and women simply feel a physiological need to re-educate someone? Or some kind of hunting excitement kicks in: yeah, there’s the seductive Casanova smiling, putting everything that moves into bed. I’ll try to tame him, fasten him to my skirt, by God, it’s not an easy task: ringing Don Juan. Alas, for those who cherish such ideas, a simple thought does not creep into their pretty heads: what is born is what grows, a bottle lover and a skirt aficionado cannot be changed, he is only able to concentrate on you personally for a while, then he will again be drawn to exploits. Well, why not glance at a normal person, for example, like my friend Slava Minaev? He is a Doctor of Science, professor, works at Moscow University, teaches mathematics. His salary, of course, is not particularly high, but it is stable, and the rector often gives his employees some bonuses, a trifle, but nice. Minaev lives alone, he has no relatives like his always grumpy mother, arrogant younger sister or corrosive father. Slava’s apartment is very good, normal, standard Moscow three-ruble rent, two adjacent rooms, one isolated. Slavka doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t show hair, and after work he goes home, where he cooks dinner for himself. Minaev is a passionate cook, owner of a huge collection of books about tasty and healthy food. He, having already begun to turn gray, has never been married, so he is not burdened with alimony, raising his offspring and permanently sorting out his relationship with his ex-wife. Slava wants to create a good, strong family, have two children, in general, she is a real diamond, an ideal option for a brides fair.

Minaev, by and large, does not care about the appearance and financial situation of his chosen one; he is a romantic who falls in love with the soul, and not a hardened type who prefers to deal only with busty and long-legged blondes. It seems that women are tearing such a man to pieces, trying to take him to the registry office. Near Minaev’s apartment, in my opinion, there should be a line of girls milling around who understand well: Slavka is their dream come true. But no, in reality the situation is different. All those who “adore” Minaev, after talking with him for a couple of months, leave the professor. The friend is suffering, he sincerely does not understand why his beloved did not want to live with him.

About two months ago, Slava and I were sitting in the same tavern, at the same table, I remember, a friend then asked with a sigh:

- Vanya, why aren’t you married?

Usually, when I hear such a question, I laugh it off and say something like: “I’m not old enough yet,” but that time I was in a disgusting mood, I had broken up with my mistress Lisa, so I suddenly said:

“You can’t imagine how tired I am of the ladies who read Marquez and regularly attend symphony concerts.” It just jars with polite hypocrisy; it’s better to find an ordinary girl, with a face not disfigured by intelligence, a good housewife, have offspring and live happily. Cottage, homemade canned food, children, grandchildren...

Two brides for one place... Yes, Ivan Pavlovich Podushkin found himself between a rock and a hard place. Two ladies at once claim that Vanya is the father of their future babies and, as an honest man, is obliged to marry. Of course, at worst, you can marry, but which of the two? And what to do with the second contender for Vanya’s hand and heart? In short, while Podushkin is trying to somehow solve his personal problems, his owner Eleanor is also not letting Vanya breathe. He rushes around the city, investigating another case. Their client Igor Samoilov met the embodiment of his childhood dream at one of the parties. She looked exactly like the girl from the calendar. Once in his youth, Igor even came up with a name for her - Francoise. And what a coincidence - the beautiful vision was also called Françoise. And after some time, the girl disappeared from Samoilov’s life as suddenly as she had appeared. Nothing was missing from Igor's apartment. And he didn’t have any special valuables, except perhaps a collection of old maps that his father collected. The old professor spent his whole life searching for pirate treasures and even claimed to have found the place where they were hidden...

Parents will not give bad advice. Mom and Dad have already made a bunch of mistakes and are now trying to warn the children. But, alas, everything is in vain: people, as you know, prefer to learn from personal bitter experience.

All mothers unanimously say to their growing daughters: cast your fate only with a positive man, you don’t need a liar, a drunkard and a post-ass. But for some reason, most girls do not listen to their mothers and prefer the spoiled version. Moreover, the more wormholes the groom has, the more he is loved. I don’t know what thoughts guide the beauties when they turn their gaze towards uncontrollable drunkards and selfless womanizers, maybe a teacher lies dormant in every representative of the fairer sex and women simply feel a physiological need to re-educate someone? Or some kind of hunting excitement kicks in: yeah, there’s the seductive Casanova smiling, putting everything that moves into bed. I’ll try to tame him, fasten him to my skirt, by God, it’s not an easy task: ringing Don Juan. Alas, for those who cherish such ideas, a simple thought does not creep into their pretty heads: what is born is what grows, a bottle lover and a skirt aficionado cannot be changed, he is only able to concentrate on you personally for a while, then he will again be drawn to exploits. Well, why not glance at a normal person, for example, like my friend Slava Minaev? He is a Doctor of Science, professor, works at Moscow University, teaches mathematics. His salary, of course, is not particularly high, but it is stable, and the rector often gives his employees some bonuses, a trifle, but nice. Minaev lives alone, he has no relatives like his always grumpy mother, arrogant younger sister or corrosive father. Slava’s apartment is very good, normal, standard Moscow three-ruble rent, two adjacent rooms, one isolated. Slavka doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t show hair, and after work he goes home, where he cooks dinner for himself. Minaev is a passionate cook, owner of a huge collection of books about tasty and healthy food. He, having already begun to turn gray, has never been married, so he is not burdened with alimony, raising his offspring and permanently sorting out his relationship with his ex-wife. Slava wants to create a good, strong family, have two children, in general, she is a real diamond, an ideal option for a brides fair.

Minaev, by and large, does not care about the appearance and financial situation of his chosen one; he is a romantic who falls in love with the soul, and not a hardened type who prefers to deal only with busty and long-legged blondes. It seems that women are tearing such a man to pieces, trying to take him to the registry office. Near Minaev’s apartment, in my opinion, there should be a line of girls milling around who understand well: Slavka is their dream come true. But no, in reality the situation is different. All those who “adore” Minaev, after talking with him for a couple of months, leave the professor. The friend is suffering, he sincerely does not understand why his beloved did not want to live with him.

About two months ago, Slava and I were sitting in the same tavern, at the same table, I remember, a friend then asked with a sigh:

- Vanya, why aren’t you married?

Usually, when I hear such a question, I laugh it off and say something like: “I’m not old enough yet,” but that time I was in a disgusting mood, I had broken up with my mistress Lisa, so I suddenly said:

“You can’t imagine how tired I am of the ladies who read Marquez and regularly attend symphony concerts.” It just jars with polite hypocrisy; it’s better to find an ordinary girl, with a face not disfigured by intelligence, a good housewife, have offspring and live happily. Cottage, homemade canned food, children, grandchildren...

By the way, I am not at all child-loving, family delights do not please me, it’s just that at that moment Slava hit his finger in the wound. Having just experienced a break with Elizabeth, I did not react very adequately to stimuli.

“So I found myself one,” Slava exclaimed joyfully, “Verochka!” How do you like her, by the way? Loves me very much.

I sighed: oh, how long will love last?

And now the friend exclaims again and again in bewilderment:

- Well, tell me, what bad did I do to Vera?

I silently stared into the cup with the disgustingly prepared drink. Alas, even in elite catering establishments, of which there are now countless in Moscow, they do not know how to brew green leaf correctly. It’s just surprising, but the kitchen workers don’t know the most basic things: water for green tea is not taken from the tap, it…

“Vanya,” Slava exclaimed in despair, “so how?” What do you think I'm guilty of?

Alas, nothing can be explained to poor Slavka, however, just like the local “tea expert”, who now, without any hesitation, filled the cups with boiling water, using ordinary unfiltered water from the kitchen tap. Slava lived with Vera for six months. Minaev met her in a store where he came to buy shoes. Vera began to serve the client, by the way, she is quite cute, a sort of simpleton with wide blue eyes, and Slava invited her to spend the evening together.

Watching their relationship unfold, I naively believed that my friend had finally found his wife. Vera arrived in Moscow from a provincial, provincial town, ran away from her alcoholic parents to her aunt. The girl doesn’t have much education; in her pocket was a diploma from a certain organization that trains salespeople in record time. The beauty lived in cramped quarters, counted pennies and dreamed of meeting a prince. And then bam - Slavka, maybe not of royal blood, but quite okay, with an apartment, a car, a dacha and a salary. Vera moved to Minaev, and Slavka, choking, told me how wonderful she was.

“I’m so lucky,” he repeated.

But I understood that the girl pulled out the winning ticket.

She did not burden herself with housekeeping. As I already mentioned, Minaev cooks himself and likes to choose the products personally. It is important for Slava that the rice for risotto be of the required length and color, so Minaev independently walks around the shops and markets. The tedious work: cleaning, washing, ironing at Slava’s is done by the gloomy Galya. She comes twice a week and puts everything in order, so, in my opinion, Vera’s life resembled a holiday. Minaev instantly took her from the shoe store and sent her to study as a designer. In the morning, Slavka took the lady to class, then he picked her up, and they went home to a clean nest, where he stood at the stove, and the lady lay down on the sofa and watched TV. Which of you, dear ladies, would refuse such happiness? Yes, one hundred women out of a hundred now feel jealous of a girl. But Vera turned out to be one hundred and first. Yesterday, while Slavka was going to the grocery store, she packed her things and left, leaving a note on the table: “Goodbye, I can’t live with you anymore!”

And now Minaev exclaims:

- Why did she do this? I didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t offend Vera, didn’t lay a hand on her.

“Maybe I should have given her a slap sometimes,” I sighed, “once a week, on Fridays.”

“Vanya,” Slava exclaimed indignantly, “I’m asking for advice, my situation is nervous, stressful, and you’re laughing!” Really inappropriate.

I buried my face in my cup again. I didn't mean to joke at all. Alas, the breed of people who are not able to appreciate good treatment towards themselves is too numerous. Girls like Vera consider intelligence to be stupid, and then, they grew up in an environment where beaters are a sign of masculinity. Slava needs to either radically change his behavior or look for a new mistress in a different social stratum. I am alien to snobbery, but you should start a family only with someone who read the same books as you in childhood and youth.

“Help me, Vanyasha,” Minaev continued meanwhile.

- How? – I asked carefully.

- Go to Vera, ask what happened? Maybe I offended her inadvertently and didn’t notice?

- Call her.

– She turned off her mobile phone.

– Do you know where Vera went?

- I think to my aunt.

- Go there.

- Nobody picks up the phone there.

- Go to the apartment.

- Already been there.

Slavka began to twirl the knife lying on the table.

- Nothing, the door was not opened, although someone was at home, you know, when you look through the peephole from the inside, a shadow flickers through it.

I nodded:

- Right. This is me in relation to the “peephole”. Since they don’t want to communicate with you, then cross out the girl from your biography, forget Vera, there will be another.

“Please go to her,” Slava begged.

“Okay,” I gave in, “although, to be honest, I don’t see any point in talking with Vera.”

“I beg you,” Minaev almost began to cry.

- Okay, give me the address.

Slavka quickly dictated the name of the street, I began to write down the coordinates in a notepad, and then my mobile phone screamed. Nora was on the other end of the line.

“Vanya,” she exclaimed angrily, “where are you?”

- At the restaurant, having dinner.

- Why on earth?

- Well... we met with Slava Minaev...

“I don’t care where and with whom you’re hanging out,” Nora seethed, “go home immediately!” The client is on his way!

“But you gave me a day off today,” I reminded.

- So what? And now she’s taken it back,” Nora said quite calmly and disconnected.

I put my mobile phone in my purse. Arguing with Eleanor has always been useless, and after she literally stood up on her feet, my employer does not want to listen to anyone but herself. Some time ago, my owner decided to undergo a very painful operation. The chances that she would begin to move independently, without a wheelchair, were extremely small, but if she didn’t have the tiniest hope, Nora would have taken the risk even then. Our surgeons dissuaded the patient from taking a rash step and threatened her with complete paralysis.

“Yes,” exclaimed the “good” doctors, “you will finally get rid of the wheelchair, but you will go to bed and will not even be able to sit.”

But you need to know Nora. Smiling maliciously, she did her own thing and can now stand and move short distances. Realizing that her legs somehow obeyed her, the owner instantly got rid of everything that reminded her of her disability. She renovated the house and threw out the wheelchair. I tried to reason with Nora and told her:

- Sorry, of course, for stepping on a sore spot, but, in my opinion, it is unwise to take the stroller out.

“Don’t be boring,” Eleanor soared.

– What if you get tired and fall in the corridor?

– The journey from the bedroom to the bathroom takes you almost an hour.

– That’s for now, in six months I’ll start running.

– It is difficult for you to get up without assistance.

- I can handle it.

- What if you fall in the bathroom?

- Nonsense.

“Still, leave the chair on wheels, it might come in handy,” I begged Nora.

- Vanya, you idiot! What was the point of having an operation then, if now you have to cut it open again in a wheelchair? All! End! I'm back on two legs! Shut up immediately! And also, let’s bet your monthly salary that in March I can safely use the metro!

“Lord,” I was amazed, “why do you need the subway?” You haven’t descended into it for many years.

“I’ll calmly come down in the spring,” Nora promised, “and I’ll also build a house outside the city, with a staircase to the second floor, and I’ll start rushing along it, jumping over the steps.” Because? Deal?

I glanced at the calendar: November. There's a lot of time until March.

“Perhaps arguing with you is a useless exercise.”

- Gold words! – exclaimed the hostess. – I’ll also sign up for a ballet studio.

- At your age! - I burst out.

“Don’t be rude,” Nora snapped, “keep in mind that if I notice that you treat me like a wretched person, I’ll immediately fine you and beat you with a ruble.” Did you miss it, cat?

Having blurted out this tirade, Nora turned around and very slowly walked towards the door. It was clear that every step was given to the lady with incredible difficulty. She doesn’t use a stick out of principle and doesn’t do herself any favors.

Suddenly Nora swayed, I started to jerk to grab the mistress, but stopped myself in time. Eleanor grabbed the wall, then turned around and nodded:

– That’s right, Vanya, well done, you’re making progress.

I just sighed - what a character. That’s why there are no close people around Nora. Who can stand being around a perfectionist biorobot?..

“Vanyasha,” Slavka reminded himself, “so, will you help?”

“Certainly,” I nodded, “but not today, Nora is calling me to work.”

“Of course, of course,” Slava nodded, “just agree.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured Minaev and left.

At home, in the hallway, an unfamiliar coat was found, obviously expensive, cashmere, imported, with a beautiful silk scarf hanging on top, perhaps a little too bright for a man. It looks like the client is already sitting in the office.

Quickly taking off my outerwear and combing my hair, I walked to the work room and opened the door without knocking. Nora works in the same place where she lives, but the service part of the apartment is separated from her personal quarters. It would never have occurred to me to barge into Nora’s bedroom without warning; moreover, I don’t look in there at all, but I enter the office calmly, without scratching the paneling.

- Here comes Ivan Pavlovich! – the hostess exclaimed warmly.

The man sitting in the chair politely stood up and extended his hand to me.

– Very nice, Igor Samoilov.

I shook my strong hand and smiled formally. It is not clear how old this Igor is, because in our time, when the stronger sex began to make full use of new cosmetology products such as photorejuvenation, chemical peeling and Botox injections, many pensioners began to look like young guys.

“Everyone is assembled,” Nora announced, “you can calmly tell us what kind of sadness brought you here.”

Igor nodded:

“I’ll try to present the events coherently, although I’m afraid I’ll have to start from afar, otherwise you won’t understand anything.”

“We’re in no hurry,” Nora assured him.

Igor clasped his fingers together.

– Lyalya Georgadze advised me to contact you. Do you know her?

“Yes,” Nora and I answered at the same time.

I wish we didn’t know Georgadze! About six months ago, Lyalya, bursting into tears, burst into our room and told us about the disappearance of her daughter, the beautiful Liana.

“She was kidnapped,” Lyalya was hysterical, “they called yesterday and demanded a ransom.”

I won’t bore you with the details, I’ll just say that Nora completed the task in exactly 24 hours. Liana was discovered at her lover's apartment. The couple, realizing that the girl’s parents would never allow her to get married at sixteen, decided to earn money and hide. Naturally, the story didn’t go any further than Nora and I.

- Lyalya said that you are capable of finding a missing person in twenty-four hours! – Igor exclaimed nervously.

“Not always,” Nora answered.

“But you found her daughter.”

- Now help me!

“We won’t be able to do anything until we find out what the problem is,” Nora said rightly.

“Yes, indeed,” muttered Igor. - So, so. Many years ago, when I was still a schoolboy, my mother at work was given an imported wall calendar.

When Anna Ivanovna brought the package home, Igor asked with interest:

- What’s there?

“I didn’t look,” my mother said indifferently, “but judging by the packaging, it’s another box of chocolates and a calendar.” Don’t unwrap it, New Year’s is just around the corner, take it to your class teacher, and you’ll have to spend less and less on gifts.

But Igor did not listen to his mother and, when she went to the kitchen, he rustled the wrappers. First, he unfolded something rectangular and realized that his mother was right. Under the gray wrapping paper was a box of “Cherry in Chocolate,” a delicacy that was in short supply in the Soviet country. However, in the second case, mommy was not mistaken; the long tube was a calendar. But what kind!!!

The monthly was published in France, with photographs of girls in swimsuits on every page. Now such a publication would be considered chaste, all the charms of young women were hidden, no bare breasts or, God forbid, bare butts. No, slender figures were covered with bikinis or so-called “one-piece” swimsuits. But, let me remind you, this happened in the ever-memorable communist times, and Igor almost died, realizing what had fallen into his hands. So that his mother would not take away the delightful publication, he immediately ran to his room, took another calendar, received as a birthday gift from a classmate, a modest example of the domestic printing industry, decorated with photographs of flowers, put it in a bag and sat down to his lessons with the most innocent look.

Mom did not notice the substitution, and the next day the teenager brought with him two classmates, Yura and Vladya, and they began to look at the pictures with ecstasy.

The guys were amazed; firstly, they did not imagine that such beauties existed in the world, and secondly, they were amazed by the bright pedicure. It was rare for Soviet women to have well-groomed legs, and one of the fashion models had a piercing in her navel, and the boys almost became hoarse arguing with each other.

“The earring is sticking out,” Igor assured.

“No, they just drew it,” Vladya answered.

- No, it's pierced.

- Come on! “Is it possible to make a hole there,” Yura climbed in, “it’s just a clip.”

They argued until they were hoarse, almost came to blows, but then they made up and divided the calendar, each getting four pages. The next day, all his classmates learned about the amazing photos, and as a result, Igor only had one picture left, the month of May. The photograph showed a fragile, almost disembodied girl with long straight blond hair. The fashion model's large blue eyes looked dreamily into the distance, her thin nose might seem a little long, but it did not spoil the girl at all, her plump, capricious lips curved in a smile, and there was a small piquant mole on her right cheek. The model sat in a wicker chair, legs slightly apart, wearing a bright red swimsuit. The widely known film with Sharon Stone has not yet been shot, but the West has long experienced such a phenomenon as the sexual revolution. It was the mid-eighties, and, as you know, there was no sex in the USSR. I hope there is no need to explain further why Igor fell in love with a lovely stranger? The girl was not only physically attractive, but from the first glance it became clear: she was a bird from a different flock. The beauty never walked in formation, bawling pioneer songs, did not doze off at Komsomol meetings, did not have parents overwhelmed by life, and did not suffer from teenage acne. She was from another world, and that says it all.